It was a very simple way of describing a very complex emotion, but he still thought it was the most fitting. After all, Occam's razor dictated that the simplest explanation was usually the best one, and he could think of nothing more pure and simple than that. He loved her.

It was also a very general statement, yet an appropriate one, because he loved everything about her. He loved the softness and warmth of her violet fur, and lamented his partial colorblindness, because he knew it prevented him from seeing her full richness and depth, as others did. He loved her eyes, which shone like gold, but were far more precious to him. He loved her body--yes, he could admit that to himself with only a modest amount of shame--from the edges of her rounded ears to the tip of her slender tail. He loved the soft purring sound she made when she was happy, but more than that, he loved to hear her speak; about what, it didn't particularly matter. She had a deep, yet sonorous voice, like a lounge singer, and he had spent many an evening simply listening to her talk about Pridelands, or catching mice, or even Maxwell, not for the conversation, but for the words themselves; every syllable that left her soft-furred lips was heaven to his keen ears.

She wasn't speaking now, but resting, sprawled upon the couch in the most undignified position he could imagine, lying upon her belly with an arm and a leg dangling off the edge of the sofa. She had a bed of her own, of course, but she rarely used it; the couch, the window, the top of the fridge... any reasonably level surface in the house would serve just as well. Her head was turned to face him, her eyes closed, a thin stream of drool trickling from her parted lips as she snored. Peanut couldn't help but smile; it was comforting to know that, despite her carefully groomed and maintained image, she too had her share of foibles.

He often wondered what she dreamed about. He could see the telltale signs, how her eyes darted beneath their lids, how her thin whiskers trembled upon her cheeks, how the tip of her tail twitched to and fro. As a dog, Peanut had no conception of what a cat's dreams entailed, of what fires lit the subconscious of the feline mind; he imagined that she dreamt of doing the same things she did while she was awake, hunting, reading, laughing... maybe even sleeping, in a weird sort of recursive loop. He also wondered, with a mixture of genuine curiosity, just a hint of arrogance, and more than a little hope, if she ever dreamed of him, as he did of her.

A sensation that was equal parts guilt and embarrassment washed over him, causing his cheeks to redden, and making him thankful that she was not awake to see it. He was quite certain that she did not dream about him the same way that he did about her, but he had no right to hope that she did, either. She was in a happy relationship with Maxwell, and it was not his place to interfere. On the contrary, it was his duty to be supportive of her, not only as her friend, but as her brother. He had promised her that he wouldn't be jealous any longer, and his fierce sense of canine loyalty demanded that he keep his word.

Besides, he was in a relationship too, if it could be called that. He had to admit that he rarely saw Tarot; she was almost never at home, and more often than not, Peanut didn't know where she was or what she was doing. When he asked, Sabrina would typically provide him with some vague, New Age answer about how Tarot was "astral projecting", or "between dimensions", or whatever. Once, the black cat had claimed that the Pomeranian had gone to the moon. It wasn't that Peanut doubted any of these answers--he had seen enough of magic and mysticism to know that they were probably true--but he just didn't understand them. Peanut liked to think of himself as an intelligent dog, but he knew nothing of the occult, and it flew in the face of all the knowledge he had gained from his considerable book-learning. Tarot and Sabrina were always brewing some potion or fighting hobgoblins or doing God-knows-what, and the world they lived in was quite literally separate from his own. He couldn't even begin to understand it, let alone take part in it.

In contrast, Peanut knew everything about his sister. He had known her for virtually her entire life, as well as most of his own, and there was very little they did not share. He knew her favorite meals, and her favorite brand of dog treats. He knew her favorite color--red--and had read her favorite books so that he might better understand her taste in literature. She didn't watch much television, but he knew that her favorite show was the Puppet Pals Power Hour, and that her favorite musical group was Journey.

He also knew that his attraction toward her was not mutual. He could not hold that against her--she was a cat, after all--but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Peanut sighed; why did things always have to be so complicated? Two years ago, he'd had no romantic desires at all, and he had been happy without them... but now, everything was different. There was a longing in his heart that hadn't been there before. Why? What had changed? Was he just getting old? He was only six... did that mean that things were only going to get worse?

She stirred where she lay, rolling onto her side, snapping him out of his self-pity and causing him to jump backward. He stood stone-still, for a moment, waiting to see if her eyes would open. They did not.

He sighed again. Right. Time to get to work.

He sat down upon the floor, folding his legs beneath him, and lifted the sketchpad into his lap. He started with her whiskers, as he always did. They were the simplest, requiring only a few dashes of his pen, and served to frame the features of her face, allowing him to move on to her eyes, and nose, and mouth, and the rest of her body in turn; even then, however, progress was slow. His nervous hands would shake, in the beginning, blurring his lines and causing unsightly smudges. They usually stopped after a few minutes, after he had managed to calm himself and settle into a proper rhythm, but the waiting made him grind his teeth together. He didn't have the time to waste.

Every stroke was made with painstaking effort, slow and deliberate. These were not his meager comics, drawn in frenzied bursts of creativity and bouts of frustration. Those were the crudely crafted toys of a child. She deserved better than that. He rarely colored them, partly due to his own inability to perceive the proper hues--he would have hated to color her green by mistake--and partly because he felt that none of the colors in his palette were appropriate for the task. For example, the color in his box of crayons that was the closest match to her eyes was yellow. But her eyes weren't yellow; they were a deep, rich gold, more lustrous and brilliant than anything Crayola had to offer. "Yellow" simply didn't do them justice.

Occasionally, she would shift position while she slept, turning this way or that, rolling onto her back, or her belly, or curling up into a fuzzy ball. These changes happened often, sometimes three or four times in an hour, and might have perturbed other artists, but not Peanut. His sister was a creature of habit, and she showed a strong preference for resting in a handful of given, if unorthodox poses. When she chose one that he was familiar with, he just flipped to the appropriate page in the sketchbook, and picked up where he had left off; when she came up with something new, or particularly unusual, he would simply start all over again. The hardest part was her tail, which incessantly twitched back and forth no matter what stance she took, making it difficult for him to capture on the pad.

He didn't know why he drew her. It wasn't as if he could actually show her his work, or for that matter, show anyone. His parents would probably think it was cute, and post it on the fridge for all to see; that wouldn't do. He knew better than to show any of the other dogs, after what had happened last time. And she... well, she wouldn't understand. But for that matter, neither did he. He wasn't making the pictures for his own enjoyment; he got enough of that simply by looking at her. He drew her because he had to, because he was compelled to, because Serendipity commanded that he put her image to paper. Da Vinci had his Mona Lisa, Botticelli had his Venus.

Peanut had her. He could think of no better source of inspiration.

Sometimes he felt guilty about it. He was fairly certain that this wasn't normal--in fact, a part of his mind assured him that it was actually pretty creepy--but he had no choice. If he had asked her to model for him, she probably would have said no; worse yet, she might have asked him why, and he had no explanation to give her. What was he supposed to say to her? That he watched her while she slept because of his art? Because it was the only opportunity he had to observe and study a feline figure up-close? Because she was breathtakingly beautiful? Because he couldn't get her out of his mind?

Because he was in love with her?

Peanut rubbed his eyes. Such thoughts were just a further waste of his time, which was in limited supply. She had been asleep for most of the day, which was unusual, even for her; while her catnaps were frequent, they seldom lasted very long. He was always afraid that she could wake up at any moment and catch him there, staring at her. For whatever reason, she slept soundly today, maybe something to do with the time change; he knew that she kept a very particular schedule. In any case, her heavy slumber was a rare opportunity for him, and he had to work quickly.

The hours ticked by slowly, but he was making progress. Many sketches that were nothing more than ghostly, disembodied faces became fuller, and fleshed out; limbless torsos grew arms and legs, bald, featureless heads gained fur, and ears. It wasn't until late in the afternoon when he stopped; his parents would be home soon, and they, like her, would no doubt have uncomfortable questions to ask if they were to spot him. He had already risen to his feet when a noise froze him where he stood: a soft whimper of a sound that came from somewhere in her throat.

Nightmares. Again.

She didn't have them often, but when she did, they were easy to spot. There was nothing else it could be, the way her ears splayed back and her breathing quickened. She would bare her teeth and flex her claws, digging them into the sofa cushions; her muscles would tense up beneath her fur, the length of her tail lashing about behind her in agitation. And the noises she would make... Peanut never knew she could make such sounds. She would hiss and growl in tones that she never used even when she was angry with him, or whimper and whine in a fearful pitch. But most of all, there was the expression on her face... Peanut knew hurt when he saw it.

It made him hurt, too.

He didn't know what it was she was seeing, but he knew that there had been a dark time in her life. She had never discussed her past with him, and he had never asked her. In all likelihood, he never would. It was not his place to pry into her private affairs, and if she wanted him to know, then she would tell him herself. He knew only that she had seen bad things, things that had left their mark upon her. Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night, sitting bolt upright, her eyes wide and her fur standing on end; Peanut believed that she would have awoken in a cold sweat, had it been possible for her to perspire.

As for himself, he could remember nothing before her. There was nothing before her; he had been young then, and she younger still, but as far as he was concerned, his life began the day he met her. The day he saw her alone in that cage, cowering in the dark. The day they had brought her home as part of the family. It wasn't possible for him to imagine life without her.

Archimedes said that, given a large enough lever, he could move the world. Peanut would have made the planet spin like a top for Grape.

He knelt down at her side, gently pressing his palm against her cheek. Her face was taut with that secret anguish, and Peanut could not bear to see her suffer. He would have done anything to take away her pain. He brushed his thumb against her whiskers, which were already quivering upon her cheek. He leaned forward, and for a moment, he hesitated.

But only for a moment.

Her fur was the softest thing he ever touched, but somehow, her lips seemed even softer. They felt pleasantly warm against his own, as did her breath as it washed over his face. Her scent filled his lungs, the aroma of grass and wildflowers, of freshly brewed hot chocolate, of her, sweeter than the smell of any rose. It was a fragrance his sensitive nose knew well, one that filled the house and haunted him while he slept.

The contact was brief, lasting only a few seconds. He was careful not to let it linger too long, lest he wake her, although he still found it hard to draw away; when he did, he saw that her breathing had calmed, and the previous tension seemed to have drained out of her body. Her anxious whimpering had given way to a soft, contented purr. It must have been his imagination, but for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the corners of her mouth draw upward into a slight smile. That made him smile, too; if he could drive away her inner demons, if only for a short while, then a broken heart was a small price to pay.

As he made his way upstairs to his room, his steps were sluggish, made heavy by the weight he felt in his feet, and within his chest. He felt guilty again, guilty about taking something else without her permission, first her face, and now her kiss. He had broken his promise to her; he was jealous, despite how hard he tried not to be. He couldn't help how he felt. He had not asked to fall in love with her, and even if he had been given the choice, he was not certain if he would choose any differently. She was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

He was a lousy friend... and an even worse brother.

The sketchpad was secreted away on his bookshelf, tucked between a dictionary and the collected works of Shakespeare. He had once hidden it beneath his mattress, but after she had found the photograph under his pillow, it was no longer safe there. She must never find it... she just wouldn't understand. He climbed into the basket that served as his bed, curling up beneath his blanket. His bed was the same as Grape's in every respect, the same size, the same shape, and every bit as comfortable. But there were times, like now, when it felt terribly lonely.

Peanut closed his eyes, and dreamed.

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Last edited by Sinder on Mon Mar 28, 2011 3:57 pm, edited 4 times in total.

The only thing that keeps this piece from utter magnificence is the 'brother and sister' thing. In fact, it gives the tale a nuance of creepiness...

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Thu Mar 24, 2011 1:45 am

Sinder

Joined: Thu Dec 11, 2008 1:48 pmPosts: 1728Location: The Internet

Re: Housepets: Muse

If it helps, Peanut feels the same way

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Thu Mar 24, 2011 1:53 am

IceKitsune

Joined: Mon Apr 26, 2010 1:35 pmPosts: 4696Location: Ohio

Re: Housepets: Muse

You know I have to say this; I've never seen anywhere in the comic that says the two of them see each other as Brother and Sister (unless I have forgotten something if I have please point it out). Grape says she see Peanut as her best friend (multiple times in fact) and Peanut clearly doesn't due to his crush on Grape. I don't really know where you guys keep pulling that from.

Thu Mar 24, 2011 2:15 am

Sinder

Joined: Thu Dec 11, 2008 1:48 pmPosts: 1728Location: The Internet

Re: Housepets: Muse

It's more of an indirect association; they're part of the same "family" and have the same "parents", ergo a relationship akin to stepsiblings or foster siblings is a little more appropriate than "housemates". The Sandwiches probably list them as dependents on their tax forms, or something.

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Thu Mar 24, 2011 2:48 am

IceKitsune

Joined: Mon Apr 26, 2010 1:35 pmPosts: 4696Location: Ohio

Re: Housepets: Muse

Sinder Wrote:

It's more of an indirect association; they're part of the same "family" and have the same "parents", ergo a relationship akin to stepsiblings or foster siblings is a little more appropriate than "housemates". The Sandwiches probably list them as dependents on their tax forms, or something.

Yes I understand that part. However, its again, never been stated in the comics its self plus IIRC Rick (and some mods) have told people to stop using that argument when any sort of Shipping comes up so I would think that would make it really untrue that they see each other that way.

The only thing that keeps this piece from utter magnificence is the 'brother and sister' thing. In fact, it gives the tale a nuance of creepiness...

Yes, but I think that the creepiness has been very well handled. It's certainly there, but it's not overdone, it's got a clear and straightforward basis, but it's causing all that emotional turmoil and doubt. It definitely adds an integral layer to the story, that makes it an absolutely fantastic read! Well done Sinder, I haven't enjoyed a fanfic this much in a long time!

That said, it is creepy! Especially the kissing her while she sleeps part. But it's a good kind of creepy...

Absolutely brilliant work! I loved it! and the nuance of creepiness plays a major role why. this piece forces the reader to Feel something. regardless if they conceptually agree or not. like I said before magnificent work.

Look at it through Grapes eyes. You are sleeping, completely unaware that the person you trust most is staring at you sleep with bated breath, and sketching you without your permission in one of your most vulnerable states. Not only that, but this person then proceeds to kiss you while you are unconscious before sneaking away upstairs to hide his "art".It is basically taking advantage of Grape in her most vulnerable state.

You have to admit that it is kind of creepy.

I do love this fanfic, though. It makes you forget just how creepy it is. it makes you feel for Peanut.

_________________My charactersEverybody has a story to tell. What's yours?

Tue Mar 29, 2011 6:48 pm

The Moon Howler

Joined: Sun Jan 30, 2011 3:38 pmPosts: 3121Location: The Moon

Re: Housepets: Muse

copper Wrote:

Look at it through Grapes eyes. You are sleeping, completely unaware that the person you trust most is staring at you sleep with bated breath, and sketching you without your permission in one of your most vulnerable states. Not only that, but this person then proceeds to kiss you while you are unconscious before sneaking away upstairs to hide his "art".It is basically taking advantage of Grape in her most vulnerable state.

You have to admit that it is kind of creepy.

I do love this fanfic, though. It makes you forget just how creepy it is. it makes you feel for Peanut.

Now, now, copper, better creepy and safe, that beaten with a broom, right?

_________________I am The Moon Howler - the being with no exact form. I serve the Moon Goddess and in return, she gives me my muse and my shape.

I guess my only gripe is just the deepness that this story represents Peanut in.

I know souls such as himself have or do not have a comprehension of the world and emotions that beat a lot of romantics out there due to his/her overlying innocence to people, but that's up to debate.

But anyway, yeah. I'm going to have to dig for other stories you've made outside of this fanon. I admire the way you write.

_________________Que Lastima

Tue Mar 29, 2011 7:25 pm

valerio

Game Master

Joined: Mon May 25, 2009 6:53 amPosts: 18882Location: Italy

Re: Housepets: Muse

I don't think that drawing her represents any violation of sort, given the situation. And I expect Grape expecting Peanut taking pics of her napping. She *does* know he's got a crush on her, and that he's a reliable dog after all.The kiss...that was creepy creepy creepy. yes.

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Wed Mar 30, 2011 1:02 am

EvanAierkan

Joined: Fri Dec 03, 2010 5:45 amPosts: 221Images: 2Location: Up north

Re: Housepets: Muse

Very good stuff, except the brother/sister thing is a bit... I don't know, out of character? Sure they live in the same household and have same surname, but in the comic I've always got the idea them being best friends rather than siblings. A bit like I wouldn't say Maxwell & Bino brothers either.

Anyways, there won't be a second part, right? Not that I wouldn't mind to see more of your exceptional writing, it's just seems pretty wrapped up unless you'd use Grapes POV. (which could be awesome!)

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Wed Mar 30, 2011 1:46 am

The Moon Howler

Joined: Sun Jan 30, 2011 3:38 pmPosts: 3121Location: The Moon

Re: Housepets: Muse

But WHY do you have to make it look as if he made some sort of deadly crime? He calmed her, now does he? and only thing that went bad is his broken heart to crack a little bit more! But if it is for his beloved, then who cares? To be honest i would have done the same thing Peanut did if i was in his place!... AND i know how i 'sound'!

_________________I am The Moon Howler - the being with no exact form. I serve the Moon Goddess and in return, she gives me my muse and my shape.

There probably won't be a direct sequel to this particular story, but that's not to say that I won't be writing more later on. After I finished Auld Lang Syne, I came up with several ideas for what to do next, but those concepts were never used. This was partially because both Two Twig and Valerio were developing their own stories based upon mine, and I was interested in seeing where they would go, and also because some people were expressing a preference for reading my work over Rick's (because it deals directly with the romantic aspects that he is still playing with and working to develop). This is something that I don't want, as Housepets is most certainly Rick's baby, and he deserves all the accolades; I just scribble a few things on the wall, here and there.

Another problem was that the concepts I was coming up with didn't really go anywhere. Both Star-Crossed and Auld Lang Syne had a lot of action, narratively speaking; characters were going places and doing things. The rough outlines I was making were structured much more loosely, and had no clearly defined plot or ending. For example, one story had Peanut and Grape snuggling on the couch and discussing their relationship... and that's it. Nothing much happened. They talked for a while, and the story just kind of stopped. Another had Grape looking through the Sandwich attic, searching for some misplaced cat toy, and coming upon Peanut's hidden sketchbook, which was filled with portraits of her that were obviously drawn using some kind of reference. Again, the story went nowhere; Grape was flattered by Peanut's attention, as he had chosen to draw her rather than work on his comics (and was putting serious effort into it, as his drawings of Grape were significantly more realistic than his comics were), but there was no resolution. That story eventually became the basis for this one.

This little tale was always intended to be shorter than the others, and was meant to illustrate the emotional problems that both Peanut and Grape are dealing with. Grape, for her part, has abandonment issues that she has internalized for a long time, and which continue to bother her; Peanut, meanwhile, still has strong, largely unresolved feelings for Grape that he is having trouble both rationalizing and coping with; he knows that his attraction to her is wrong, on multiple levels, but he can't help himself; he can't simply stop caring about her with the flick of a switch. The earlier "couch" story dealt with some of these issues at length, as Peanut confessed that he was worried about their future and concerned that their relationship might be "wrong" in the eyes of their peers; Grape made some comment about how she refused to believe that loving someone could ever be wrong.

Part of the difficulty is demonstrating that both Peanut and Grape both have emotional baggage without writing them like asylum inmates; their issues should be a part of who they are, but shouldn't wholly define their personalities (otherwise, Grape would never trust anyone and would be huddled in a corner all the time). They are both in their teens, relatively speaking, and there's a certain amount of emotional instability that comes with adolescence. I got to cheat here with Grape, as she sleeps through the whole story and so we never really get to see what's bothering her (save that whatever it is, it is unpleasant). Peanut, however, was more challenging to deal with. I was worried about depicting him as being too fragile, if not outright disturbed. However, this is an issue that is sincerely troubling him, and he's dealing with it in the only way he knows how: through his art. Besides, it's not tremendously far removed from what we've seen of Peanut's behavior already; he's insecure, gets pretty weepy when it comes to Grape, and that whole thing with the photo of Fido and Sabrina illustrates that he externalizes his fantasies in ways that some people might consider inappropriate.

The first draft had no kiss at all. I specifically added one because the story would have otherwise ended almost exactly like Auld Lang Syne did, and I didn't want to retread old ground. It was also an opportunity to provide additional depth for both Grape and Peanut by showing that Grape, on some level (perhaps a subconscious one), is receptive to his attention, while Peanut only feels worse; he wants the best for Grape, but knows that what he feels (and what he's done) is abnormal, and despite that, only manages to dig his hole a little deeper.

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Last edited by Sinder on Wed Mar 30, 2011 5:27 am, edited 1 time in total.

Wed Mar 30, 2011 4:40 am

The Moon Howler

Joined: Sun Jan 30, 2011 3:38 pmPosts: 3121Location: The Moon

Re: Housepets: Muse

Sinder Wrote:

... It was also an opportunity to provide additional depth for both Grape and Peanut by showing that Grape, on some level (perhaps a subconscious one), is receptive to his attention, while Peanut only feels worse; he wants the best for Grape, but knows that what he feels (and what he's done) is abnormal, and despite that, only manages to dig his hole a little deeper.

Exactly the thing i was trying to explain in my posts above, Sinder. It (obviously) seems that you beat me in the art of explanations.

_________________I am The Moon Howler - the being with no exact form. I serve the Moon Goddess and in return, she gives me my muse and my shape.

when i said "ol' shippers" i meant people like Sinder and Valerio ... i am still a young shipper since i am barely here from 2 months and i believe you mean my fic about silver, but that is a bit off-topic here. I am not going to mess with other people's fics by advertising my own works in their topics!

ALSO i never said that you have to be a Shipper to be able to write... just mentioned they are good at expressing feelings between Peanut and Grape, at which i am still adept at.

_________________I am The Moon Howler - the being with no exact form. I serve the Moon Goddess and in return, she gives me my muse and my shape.

It's a engaging little story, and possesses that rich depth to it akin to many of your other works. A bit unsettling in some parts, but otherwise good structure, good pacing, good narrative, great all around. Hats off to you sir.

_________________Hold still ~I'M PAINTING THE WORLD----My Devious account...SIP. When is the next update coming? When you least expect it

Last edited by Two_Twig on Mon Apr 04, 2011 5:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Sun Apr 03, 2011 12:43 pm

The Game

Joined: Wed Nov 25, 2009 4:28 pmPosts: 3920

Re: Housepets: Muse

That was the best, ever-so-slightly creepy story I've ever read. *claps*

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